UnfathomablyCute
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Chapter Forty: No, the rice isn't for me!
🕑 Added 2023-08-25 23:46:36 +0000 UTCThe radio host's voice is background noise to me at this point, and my buttocks are numb from the half hour it’s taken to approach the bubble's southern border. I’d like to say I used that time to reflect on my predicament with my parents, but that would be a pointless lie to myself.
Instead of that, though, I’ve been puzzling out how Menagerie could have an ‘estate’ when we live in a relatively cramped bubble. Is it just an exaggeration? Does she call it an estate to make it seem more gothic or fit her aesthetic more? It could just be an actual estate, and I’ve somehow never seen nor heard of it, but I’ve walked around the city a few times, so that’s hard to believe.
I try to mentally ping Roosevelt to get his input before we arrive, but I get back something like an undulating emotion-based busy tone. I scrunch my nose at the unpleasant sensation as well as the additional questions him needing a busy-tone poses. Reaching for my pocket to note down the question on my phone before I forget, I quickly realize I have neither my phone, nor the pocket I placed it within
The smooth yet puffy exterior of my ascendant forms dress ripples mockingly as I pat it, forcing me to remember my impromptu swim and its resulting consequences. Is my phone waterproof? That’s probably information I should know, but I’ve never really been in a situation where it’s been necessary.
Leaning forward unintentionally as the car slows down, I regain awareness of my surroundings as an armed soldier walks up to the window. Revision lowers the window to talk to him, but the rain that should have poured inside still slides down where the glass was.
“You don’t have to stop at the checkpoint every time, Rev. No one else in this city drives a hearse, much less one heading out of the bubble.” The man says, scratching his surprisingly dry beard. His eyes shift to me for a moment and widen in surprise, but whatever his thoughts are, they remain unsaid.
“Heard from a friend that you guys have to investigate any reported suspicious packages” Revision says, grinning smugly. “Got something in the back I wanted you to check out for me.”
The man pales, concerned at the obvious prank but also fully aware he doesn’t have much of an option here.
“I’m aware that this is a hearse, but if there’s a stiff in the back, there will be consequences. Vanguard status be damned, I will find a way to make you do paperwork.”
Revision’s bark of a laugh seems to be one with little care for consequences; whether that’s because he knows he won’t receive any, or that he simply doesn’t care about them is still up in the air.
“Antonio, check the back.” The man, Tim—if his nametag is to be believed—shouts back to another of the suspiciously dry-looking soldiers.
At this point, even I’m a bit apprehensive about the whole ordeal, so both me and Tim are forced to wait anxiously as Antonio opens the back of the vehicle. I crane my neck to look, but it’s impossible to get a good angle, and I’m not sticking my head into the rain just to see better.
“Sandwitches, sir. It’s sandwiches.” I hear Antonio's voice say through the radio, somewhat dumbfounded.
Revisions barely suppressed grin spreads into a wide smile, his unnaturally perfect teeth bared in smug amusement. “I accidentally ordered an extra thirty-two ham sandwiches; it would be a terrible shame if they got confiscated on my way out of the city.”
Tim’s mixed feelings about the situation are written plainly on his face; he clearly appreciates the gesture, but doesn’t care quite as much for the spike in blood pressure that comes with it. After a moment's consideration, he asks. “...Is the ham real?”
“No, but it’s from Tony’s, so it might as well be.”
Tim narrows his eyes at Revision as a last-ditch effort before admitting defeat. “There are dozens of ways to do something like this without breaking protocol; you know that, right?” He says before speaking into his radio. “Bring em’ inside for investigation.”
He waves us forward, gesturing to the tower with his other hand. The metallic gate in front of us folds out of the way as Revision turns to me. “He used to be my Captain, so I give him a hard time when I know he’ll be around.”
“Your Captain? You used to be part of the defense force?” I ask, a little surprised. I guess it’s not that unrealistic, but in my head, I just sort of saw him as having always been a Vanguard. Kind of like when you’re a kid and you don’t really consider the fact that your teacher has a normal life outside of teaching, so running into them at the store is a life-shattering revelation.
He pushes down on the gas pedal but still responds before going silent. “Yeah, I didn’t really have anywhere to go after my parents passed, and I’d always been kind of durable. Wasn’t easy, but it gave me something to focus on.”
Oh, he said that pretty casually. Though, I guess that’s kind of par for the course when it happened so long ago. My entire body feels like it’s being dragged through a slab of jello for a moment, the bubble’s outer layer clinging to me as the car forces me through it.
I’m outside the bubble. Isn’t that bad?
I remember the guard saying something about it, but I hadn’t wrapped my head around it until now. Breathing the outside air is dangerous, like, kill you and zombify your corpse kind of dangerous.
Revision notices my distress and clicks a button near his arm rest, prompting the window to the back seat to slide open.
Menageries head pops through, twisting her head left and right to look at us. “What is it?” she asks before noticing that I’ve turned slightly red from holding my breath. “Ah. You needn’t worry about breathing in the fathom-taint, if that’s your concern. You left such weaknesses behind with your mortality.”
She returns to her seat, closing the window behind her with a click, leaving me still sitting there, holding my breath. I trust her, but letting go of such an ingrained fear is a bit of a hard ask.
Feeling the pressure building in my head, I decide the low chance of zombiehood to be a better option than forcing myself to pass out in someone else's car, so I take a breath. It burns my throat, but in the I-held-my-breath-too-long way, not the I-just-inhaled-zombie-spores way. Not that I know the difference, but assuring myself feels better.
My eyes slide across the overgrown landscape of the world outside of the bubble, and I can’t help but wish my mom could see the world like this, without the saturation.
—————————————————————————————————————————
I guess the word “estate” is pretty apt after all. I tilt my head back to see the tips of the buildings spires; their Victorian inspiration readily apparent. She must have had this personally made, because I’m confident we didn’t have a castle of this size on our east coast before the world ended.
I numbly follow the two of them, my head on a swivel as I take in my surroundings. The bricks are placed in such a way that I can tell the layer intentionally added tweaks and mistakes to make it seem more natural to the human eye. The windows are tall and pointed at the top, and I catch my reflection in one of them.
My ridiculously out-of-place outfit, with all of it’s alien and ocean-themed bits, draws a laugh out of me that the two of them notice.
“Sorry, I’m not laughing at your home,” I say, quickly, the smile still on my face. “I just caught my reflection and saw how bizarre I looked here compared to you guys.”
Menagerie's head tilts just slightly to the right, taking me in. “We are likely a similar size if you’d like to wear something more on theme.”
Thoughts of how awkward I’d look in one of her outfits race through her mind, and I panic as I try to think of a way to reject her offer without being rude.
“We don’t have enough time in the day for her to puzzle out how to wear your stuff, Mel. You’re the abnormal one for how fast you can put them on.” Revision says, rescuing me unintentionally.
She doesn’t continue the conversation, instead walking up the steps to the set of massive doors, which open on their own. I step inside after her and notice that the click of my armored leg seems to be even louder than usual, contrary to the quieting effect in the Vanguard building.
“Go ahead and give your wet clothes to Blaire; he’ll dry them off in a few minutes while we speak of your dilemma.” She says, pointing the handle of her umbrella at what looks to be—in my professional opinion—a tuxedo-clad werewolf with impeccable posture.
A gutteral noise emits from it’s throat as it—no, he—opens a door for me to enter. Inside, I see a massive shower and a set of folded clothes on a counter, presumably for my use.
I fidget for a moment, hesitating to ask the debatably important question on my mind. “Do you guys have any rice I could use?”
The stunned silence feels a little excessive, but it’s not really my place to say that since I asked the question. The two of them meet eyes for a moment, communicating their confusion with one another before looking back at me.
“You are hungry?” Menagerie asks, though it’s more like a statement with a raised intonation at the end.
“No? I mean, sort of. The rice isn’t for me, though; my phone was in my pocket when I jumped in the water.”
I can see the moment understanding dawns on them, both of their lips quirking up as they stifle laughter at my plight. My face heats up as I prepare to defend myself, though Revision speaks up before I can.
“I doubt that’ll be an issue. As long as you’ve got a Vanguard-issued one, it’s definitely waterproof, among other things. We can personally attest to the work of the Vanguard who made them; he’s the one who set up our tech here for us after all.”
I have a momentary flashback to when I pondered whether the Vanguard who made our phones lived here, and how I dismissed it offhand. Maybe I was less far off than I thought.
Blaire lets out a subtle grunt, interrupting us before we can continue the conversation any farther. He’s been holding the door open for me this entire time, evidently to his chagrin.
I throw him a quick sheepish apology before ducking into the open room and letting the door close behind me. As soon as I hear it click, I allow my entire body to wilt and let my back slide down the wall. I’m feeling more put together, but not enough that I don’t need to put on a front for the two of them.
I feel that metaphysical switch that controls my ascendant form and flick it off, returning me to my previous soggy state as my costume dissipates. The sudden cold gives me goosebumps, and my slumped position lets my soaked clothes press against me even more.
I try to pry the freezing clothes off of my back, though the task is more herculean than I’d first anticipated. You’d think something so wet would be slick, but I guess the weight counteracts that or something. Whatever it is, it makes the entire experience even worse.
After managing to peel my various articles of clothing off and crawl into the massive shower, I sit down in the middle of the floor and press the button to turn it on. The entire roof serves as a faucet, pouring warm water over me like a pleasant rain.
I’d like to have stayed forever, but the societal pressure of having people waiting on me forced my hand and made me turn it off. I probably could have spent a little longer in there, but by that point any comfort the shower would have provided would have been counteracted by my growing guilt.
I use the quick drying feature inherent in most showers these days before stepping out, finding my clothes missing and a fresh set on the counter replacing them. Picking up the shirt reveals a soaked cat design with the words “Mistakes were made” on a banner beneath it. I’d be more mad about it, but it’s unbelievably soft and perfectly my size.
“And it’s kind of hilarious, but I won’t be telling them that.” I mutter, slipping everything on.
I open the door, but it’s to a distinctly different room than the one from which I entered the shower. The floors are padded, and the room itself is easily three times the size of the living room we were in before.
“I find my conversations to be more productive and to the point when they are done alongside a more physical activity. Come, speak as you run.”
“Run?” I ask, eating my words as I watch two elk-sized monstrosities strut out of tears in reality, their baleful gaze locked on me.
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